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Writers in focus

The Abyss

I’m standing quite still on the edge of an abyss,
As wide and as deep as the heart itself is,
And though I’ve not noticed its vastness till now,
I know it’s been there since before time began.

And now that I’ve seen it, I can’t run away,
For it opens wherever I go,
Yawning and gaping, like some awful mouth,
Just waiting to swallow me – whole.

Yet the strangest thing is that, afraid as I am,
I miss by a mile if I try to fall in,
As I do with my shadow,
That will not be caught.

So what can I do,
Stuck here on this edge,
With a bottomless gulf at my feet?

Perhaps, when I’m ripe,
Like an apple in autumn,
I’ll fall, and be gone,
For ever.

Zazen

Within the night-dark room – a flame!
A breath of living fire,
That feeds upon itself, as if eternal,
Consuming darkness with its flickering tongue
Of fragile, yellow light.

Without, the moon-soaked wind blows cold,
And with faint knocks and taps
Allows the shadows of the dead a voice,
To summon and implore
The living.

The figures sit, unmoving,
With straight backs and folded hands,
And faces of forgetful bliss,
Softly shining,
Buddhas of the Three Worlds.

Through the open windows,
In rising gusts, the wind
Sweeps out the trembling flare,
To leave the living quick
Aglow, amid the smouldering dark.

Missionary Man

I met a young man in the street yesterday,
Who wanted to talk about God, (so he said),
So I said, “What about Him?”

He first of all told me Christ died for my sins,
(Whatever that means),
As if murder could make me feel better.

Then he told me how God made the world in six days,
When I wanted to know,
“Who made God?”

“The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand”, he exclaimed,
“Yes, I’ve seen it”, I said,
–in Kolkatta.”

“If you only have faith”, he exhorted me next,
“Ah, if only I could,
–but I can’t.”

So I said to him, “Show me, then, you of the Faith,
Show me God in yourself,
Right now!”

But his white-shirted limbs went as dead as a brick,
And his wonderful words came no more,
Though he wanted to talk about God, (so he said).

Ah, he sounded so glib,
When he talked about Him,
Like a salesman who’s pushing a product,

That I thought of a banker,
Withdrawing his cash on investments
In “Jesus Christ, Inc.”

But he’d licked up the vomit
Of what others had told him,
And spewed it out into my face,

‘Till the stink turned my guts,
And I left him alone,
Finding others to talk about God with.

Featured writing

Another

Since
We met
There has been
No one
Else
For me but you
Took
Another
And came
To regret
It.

************

By the River

I sat on the banks of the darkening river,
By the broad, slow stream, where the water runs deep,
And the grasses of Autumn grew over my heart,
Entangling me, rooting me there.

I saw the leaves fall to the journeying water,
And felt the cold wind on my hair and my cheek,
And I heard the night-song of invisible birds,
In the reed-choked marsh by the shore.

I watched the dull flames of a fire in the night,
And I smelled its decay in the vanishing smoke,
And I heard the low boom of the scattering wind,
As it whirled the white ashes away.

I tasted the fruit of the tree where I sat,
And the rich, red, flesh of Eve’s breasts filled my mouth,
And my tongue sucked the juice that was bitter to drink,
Of fecundity turned to decay.

I saw the bright moon rise into the blackness,
Where she hovered, alone and unsure,
And I saw how her light fell all over the world,
And dissolved it in shimmering dreams.

I felt the first shock of the gathering storm,
And the icy-cold waters that lapped at my waist,
And the river which took me so lightly, so gently,
Embracing me, drawing me down.

In the flood of the night, in the wind and the rain,
And the beating of waves on the shore,
I surrendered completely, utterly, finally,
To the love of the fathomless dark.

************

Sleep

At night—no empty bed,
But warmth, and weight, and touch that knits the sleep,
Entwinéd limbs, soft breathing,
Until the dawn reveals your face.

************

No Self

Ye deaf and blind!
Your senses closed to Paradise before your face,
When will you let
The self leave off, and merge
With all that is?

Each second gone,
Each jewel moment lost for ever.
No going back!
But therein lies its bliss
For those who live at one.

Mind made, this world,
No here, no there,
No up, no down,
No you, no me,
As in a dream,
Struck dumb.
Body and mind dropped off.
Who knows what is, or why?

Heritage and Tourism Symposium

November 12, 2019

Protection and Promotion — Striking a Balance

Heritage and Tourism Symposium, November 8, 2019

by Rebecca Otowa

This past November 8, Writers in Kyoto hosted the Heritage and Tourism Symposium with four guest speakers. Over 80 people attended the event, including WiK members and concerned members of the general public, and many interesting points were raised.

John Dougill discussing a point about World Heritage sites

The first to speak was the founder of WiK, John Dougill, author of Japan’s World Heritage Sites. He spoke about the sites (WHS) in Japan, which now number 23. The reason so many sites have been designated, especially in recent years, is thought to be that Japan recognizes the importance of the WHS system and wishes to be seen as a player of the world stage. (Also, WHS strictures were loosened to allow the inclusion of sites of the original design but not comprised of the original materials — a change which allowed wood-intensive Japan to put forward buildings that have been rebuilt after fire.)

John Dougill spent a couple of years researching his book, visiting and photographing all the sites from Shiretoko Peninsula in the north to Okinawa in the south, and mentioned as his favorite the Ogasawara Islands, also known as “the Galapagos of the Far East”, with many species of unusual flora and fauna. His conclusions were:

1) Japan is 80% mountain land with much spectacular scenery. This natural heritage should be more widely publicized. Besides Ogasawara Islands in this context he mentioned Yakushima, also Mt. Fuji and three sites on Kii Peninsula, which could be described as both natural and cultural sites.

2) The regional impact of having a location designated as a WHS can be both positive and negative. On the plus side, one can cite local prestige, increased revenue and increased visibility and tourist flow. Negatives include the lack of flexibility to modernize (WHS are expected to be kept in their original condition) and the transformation of the entire area into a tourist destination, with all the accompanying upsets for residents and environment. In this connection it was mentioned that WHS could benefit from some sort of ranking system based on the size and accessibility of the sites.

3) Tourist Potential — The upcoming designation of Ancient Kamakura as a WHS raises the question, does this area really need more tourist promotion, access or visibility? The resulting increase in “inbound” tourism doesn’t necessarily benefit the locals. Amami-Oshima, indeed, is planning construction of a Marine Park and even the incursion of huge cruise ships into a fragile ecosystem with endangered species. How to strike a balance between protection and promotion? This emerged as a key issue in the symposium.

Amy Chavez listening to a question from the audience

The second speaker was Amy Chavez, longtime resident of Shiraishi Island in the Inland Sea and author of Best Behavior in Japan. The emphasis of her talk was on understanding and action. She pointed out that manners are not the same as sensitivity to the mores of another culture, though they may be related. Tourists need to be taught about the differences in how things are done — they can’t be expected to know that some of the things they do unconsciously are resulting in bad feeling among the locals. In the primarily Muslim country of Indonesia, which she cited as an example, people are very sensitive about the importance of the head, so that no one ever touches the head of a child, motorcycle helmets are never placed on the ground, and there is a resistance to multilevel dwellings because someone’s feet are walking around above one’s head. Such things are important to a culture. A similar situation in Japan might be that in the West, people usually expect someone else to take care of their personal trash, whereas Japanese people learn from an early age to manage it themselves. On the ground in tourist areas, Amy suggested there is more need for hands-on control. She mentioned three ideas for this.

1) “Tourist Aides”, people in uniform who patrol crowded tourist areas and gently remind people to follow the (posted) rules.

2) Stricter checking of tour guide licenses and making sure the guides understand that they are responsible for the behavior of their group (people in groups are much more likely to misbehave than people who travel alone).

3) “Parking lot” systems which prevent more than a certain number of people entering a tourist site at one time. If others want to enter, some people must leave. To this last I would like to add that a “buffer” number is a good idea, and that the capacity number be chosen carefully to preserve the ambience of the site. This kind of restriction is already being practiced in tourist venues in Europe.

Murakami Kayo, talking about regional diversity

The third speaker, Murakami Kayo, from the Kyoto office of the Agency for Cultural Affairs, was substituting at short notice for Hoshino Akie who was unfortunately unable to attend. She said that since 2003 there has been a push for the country to become tourism-oriented in order to “Raise Up the Country”, and mentioned the importance of regional promotion, with the recent shift in emphasis from regions being told what to do by the central government to regions being responsible for their own tourism promotion. This would include regions deciding for themselves what would be attractive to tourists and figuring out how to draw tourists who like diversity, both to improve the economic situation of regions and to take pressure off the heavily visited central sites. The creative use of regional characteristics like food and the rediscovery of interesting places both natural and cultural can be instrumental in this. She talked about the need for balance between overseas tourists and Japanese tourists, who may dislike sharing the tourist sites with foreigners, resulting in cancellations. Also she spoke of “carrying capacity” which is the number of tourists that can safely be admitted to a site in a given time, in order to ensure the site is not damaged by the sheer physical pressure of the numbers. For example, the Tomioka Silk Mill, opened since its designation as a WHS since 2014, has been used for impact studies including deterioration of buildings resulting from changes in air quality etc. In a word, cultural properties are as fragile as natural environments, and it is necessary to set up reasonable capacity restrictions in order to protect the sites from damage.

Alex Kerr making a point about overtourism

The final speaker was Alex Kerr, award-winning author of books about changes in Japan such as Lost Japan, Dogs and Demons and Another Kyoto, and expert on the effects of tourism and suggestions for management. Coiner of the term “UNESCO-cide”, he nevertheless opines that tourism is the last hope for many areas of Japan. He cites the village of Iya Valley in Shikoku, which he has worked to revivify by remodeling old houses and turning them into guest houses. There are now about 20 million abandoned houses in Japan, most of them in outlying regional areas, and he has initiated some projects to restore old houses in this way, adding the caveat that the regions themselves must be comfortable with the renovations. Alex emphasized that in tourism, management is key, and that the quality of the experience both for tourists and locals depends on systems of management and the desirability of a shift, now, from promotion to management especially in heavily touristed areas. In the Nishiki shopping arcade of Kyoto, for instance, locals have stopped going there to shop because the wares sold have largely changed to suit the tastes and demands of the tourists who flock through there. Thus the very things the tourists have come to see are disappearing. The vendors themselves need to control their products as is done in many markets etc. in Europe. Management of numbers also needs to be carried out, prior reservations which limit numbers being one of the tested methods for this. Alex cited several adverse effects and characteristics now being observed as tourist numbers soar:

1) Zero Dollar Tourism wherein all amenities and services are provided by the tour companies of the country of origin, with the result that many tourists arrive but don’t spend much money at the site.

2) False advertising — tourists may complain that the situation at tourist sites isn’t the same as the image they visualized with the help of promotional material, e.g. Mt. Fuji, whose climbing path is overcrowded and choked with refuse.

3) The myth of convenience, seen in places where large parking lots are built, intended to be more convenient for the tourist site itself, while the nearby shopping street, formerly an integral part of the site experience, languishes unvisited.

4) Poorly designed and placed signage, and oversignage. He showed slides of various tourist sites sporting forests of signs telling people to do this or that, the attachment of signs to ancient pillars which are part of National Treasure sites, and signs which repeat the same message over and over. He pointed out that the look of the site is spoiled by the signage which may send the message that visitors don’t have to respect the site, resulting in litter and bad behavior.

In conclusion Alex spoke of the need for management with emphasis on the quality of the experience, which does not necessarily arise by itself from a day-tripper mentality. This is the result of counting the simple numbers of tourists in and out, and not allowing them the time and room to feel respect and forge their own personal experience from the visit.

The event concluded with a lively question-and-answer period, some of the main points raised being the importance of liaison between the central government and local communities, establishment of proper consultants for regional tourism, and management of heavily visited sites to respect the reality of the carrying capacity.

It is to be hoped that a follow-up event will be organized to discuss further this complex and multi-faceted topic, and that the conclusions reached and the constructive suggestions made will slowly but surely trickle out into the general society.

Kayo Murakami responds to one of the many questions that followed the talks

Rebecca Otowa in the audience making a point

A representative of the Australian consulate added to the discussion points

Eric Johnston of The Japan Times asking a question. Eric was instrumental in setting up a previous meeting with Bunkacho (Agency for Cultural Affairs), to which this symposium was a follow-up.

The lively question time captured the panel’s attention

Writers in focus

The Horned God

October 28, 2019

THE HORNED GOD
by Marianne Kimura

No one knew how the statue of the horned god had gotten to the end of the broken desolate peninsula encased in the shambles of soggy, broken concrete. This spot, among rubble and weeds, with stark frames of defunct gigantic towers and their staring, blank and open windows, wasn’t a very appropriate or convenient spot for the statue of such an important god.

Or maybe it was. But, on the whole, they wanted their deity to be closer to them and their greener island across the water.

Dug proposed that they move it but no one could think of any way to move such an enormous and heavy metal beast of a monument. It was in the shape of a bull: four legs, a stiff tail thrust in the air in a dance that threatened violence, a barrel of a body and short, squat legs with cloven hooves. There was no doubt it was male: enormous bronze testicles hung between the squat back legs.

On its head were its famous horns which they sometimes decorated with beautiful vines and wildflowers collected from the banks of the sea nearby, the spot where they landed their rafts when they came to pay homage to him.

He was known as the Bowling Green God because of all the signs, some broken and some still hanging, in crooked angles, in his vicinity that had “Bowling Green” printed on them. He must have been a very important god in the past, too, because there were so many decrepit signs, still hanging or scattered around on the ground, with his name: “Bowling Green Park”, “Bowling Green Subway Station” and even a “Bowling Green Sandwich Café”. Horass, an elder in their little tribe and their ‘resident scholar’ had theorized that in the Greatera, places in this area had been given his sacred name as a sign of respect and out of a desire to share in his power and magnificence. “I’m not completely sure”, he said, “it’s possible that was his name, or rather I just don’t remember and I don’t know what else it could be. He’s the only important thing around here.” Horass’ sucked in his thin cheeks and a look of doubt had crossed his face.

(Not everyone in the tribe could read, but a few people, such as Horas and his wife Maree could and they had explained patiently to the others that in the Greatera there had been fast trains, called subways, that sped along in tunnels, and shops called cafés that sold food.)

The group, they called it their tribe, was about 50 people in all. They lived and farmed on a nearby island called Governor’s Island. This name, they knew, was from the Greatera. It had survived, like the name of their horned god, Bowling Green, because of all the signs left by the people who had been there years ago.

“Govern means rule”, said Dayve in a speculative mood, as they get into their rafts and push them into the water one May Day. A large faded and cracked red sign that said “GOVERNOR’S ISLAND” hung on some metal poles stuck into firm concrete on the beach. “Our island is where the old rulers lived in the Greatera”, he says more authoritatively, pointing at the sign with his oar as though its presence alone could confirm his theory. Lin, his long-time girlfriend, stares at the sign as she rows in front of him and is totally convinced. She smiles. Sure, she’d heard people say that before, (it is one of those theories floating around), but it is still so nice when things make sense in this world! She can imagine the governors of Greatera proudly coming and going next to the stately red sign a century ago as they fulfilled their important duties on the mainland.

But Horass, pulling an oar behind them in the same raft, disagrees. “No”, he said, “it wasn’t like that. Mind you, I was just a little kid back then, when all the cars and trucks stopped running virtually overnight…But before that happened, I can still remember some stuff…..the rulers were living in New York City and in someplace else….Washinham or Washinden…..the name escapes me now.”

Horass is the oldest among them, already perhaps 60, he was not sure, his age is just a guess. He is thin as a willow. They all are of course. Food is difficult to grow. It is a busy yet rudimentary existence by our modern standards.

Because of all the work, growing, storing, preserving food and making tools, the tribe rarely does things all together. They mostly visit Bowling Green in small groups or dating couples or even alone, if they dared to cross the deep harbor alone on such a flimsy wooden raft.

But in the springtime, the tribe makes a special effort to paddle together across the water in their rafts made of logs tied together and hold a May Day ceremony to honor Bowling Green.

They all know May. All the months of the year, from January to December, had come down to them, intact, from the Greatera. They know pretty much when the days of particular month got to 30 or 31, as the case may be, and a few designated people count them off and mark them on the walls in the run-down buildings that still survive, but, as Horass admits, there is no one to tell them if they are right. They are thus a little unmoored from the familiar numbers and letters, the alphabet, the numerals, the sequences of time and all the other hallmarks of literacy that had grounded billions of humans for centuries: July, March, August, 1, 7, 2, 8, A, W, J, Q, M and so on.

Even the order of the months, numbers greater than about 25, and the alphabet (except for the first three letters, ABC), are all now hazy in the minds of some of their tribe’s younger members.

Lifting away or coming unstuck and unglued, naturally, en masse, from the rubric of literacy, they are suspended safely by the seasons and the plants and animals instead.

That’s why the festivals are so important. And none more important than May Day.

Warm weather makes them content and excited and if it continues a while it is a sure sign of spring. Then one of them will count the marks on the wall and announce “It’s May Day!” That very morning they will drop whatever they were doing and all go and dance around Bowling Green, their horned god.

That May Day, after landing on the shore, which is a tangled jungle of broken concrete with some green sumac, willows, blackberries, reeds and other various greenery sprouting here and there among the crumbling ruins, they are gathered around the statue.

Suddenly Lin, overcome with emotion and joy at the heavenly spring weather and blue sky, drops Dayv’s hand and skips up to the statue. Seizing the deity’s sacred horns, she clambers up on its head. Then, balancing along his spine with her arms outstretched, she walks to the flattest spot on his back and sits down with a happy and triumphant smile as though she is riding him.

Like the horned god, she is wearing a crown of flowers.

“She should marry him!” a man in the crowd murmurs, ragged emotion cresting in his deep voice, almost like a sob.

Everyone turns to see who among them has made this strange suggestion, but no one acknowledges being the speaker and gradually, after an awkward silence, others take up the cry: “she should marry him!”

“Marry him!”

“Marry the horned god!”

“Lin should marry Bowling Green!”

“Go for it, girl!”

“He’s your guy, Lin!”

Only Dayv stays quiet, put out and feeling annoyed, possessive and embarrassed. This is what Lin gets for being such a seeker of attention, always she has to perform or have people’s eyes upon her. Sometimes she wears strange motley and fringed fashions she creates on her own, other times she skips around with her recorder and plays songs while most of them are working baling hay and carrying water for the collective goats. She ties up her hair with green wisteria vines. She grows flowers instead of vegetables and then asks him for some of his carrots and kale. Which, however, he always gives her.

He wishes, fervently, that she would quit this sort of thing. Maybe once they are married he can prevail upon her to be more conventional and normal, though he doubts it.

Lin is standing on top of the bull now. She strikes a pose: her hands in a “V” shape over her head. She winks at Dayv, who rolls his eyes at her and then blushes deeply when a few people in the crowd notice his peevish, impatient expression and then everyone turns to look at him with amused smiles on their faces.

A lover’s spat!　

“No, that’s not how it’s done”, a man calls out to Lin, the same the anonymous man with the deep voice who first suggested the marriage of the bull to Lin.

Everyone turns and sees, clearly now, that it is Vejo.

Vejo is a mysterious man, a man with a thick neck and a man who befriends birds by mimicking their calls. He is not even afraid of large and ferocious swans. He keeps, in fact, a pair of married swans as pets and his home is near the water where these swans swim happily around a bay.

He has a magnificent bicycle, not a wreck of a bicycle, like most of them have. His is excellent and he has a marvelous knack of keeping it in order (This is one source of mystery surrounding him―how he procures the special parts for his technically advanced bicycle is unclear.) He is married, but he has a reputation for being somewhat of a womanizer and his long-suffering wife Reha has more than once let it be known that she has run out of patience with his philandering. And he has an elegant gold earring in one ear, like a pirate.

“All right, then”, says Lin in her brightest, loudest and most commanding performer’s voice, “how’s it done, then?”

“You have to lie down on his back”, says Vejo, his arms crossed. He pauses. It almost sounds like he is speaking off the cuff and some in the crowd wonder if he is making this all up.

Dayv has moved close to the bull to catch Lin if she should fall off. He is thinking that she is just the type to get into something public and disastrous without thinking it all through.

“…And you have to look up at the sky and close your eyes while we all chant”, Vejo finishes.

Lin quickly lies down on the bull’s back and closes her eyes. The spring breeze blows her hair around and some flowers she is carrying flutter, petals scattering.

Everyone looks expectantly at Vejo, wondering what the chant will consist of.

“We chant, um, we chant…..” his gruff voice trails off weakly, helplessly.

Clearly he has no idea what he is talking about. It’s most disappointing.

Another pause. Everyone waits. Lin, lying on the back of the huge bull, is motionless.

“Well, I suppose we’d better just say ‘Congratulations Bowling Green and Lin’”, suggests Vejo rather defensively, as if expecting someone to protest that his idea is too simple, ridiculous and obvious.

But no one protests. After a few moments of reflection, someone starts chanting the phrase.

“Congratulations Bowling Green and Lin”.

Others follow, but then, suddenly, a clear and piercing woman’s voice changes the tune of the chant.

“Hail, Goddess!”

Now everyone turns to see who has said this, but there are a few women standing where the voice seems to have originated: Maree, Giwa, Elsi, Reha. Who has suggested this novel chant?

The women look knowing but remain curiously silent.

No one cares, after all. The thing is that the new chant seems better, more appropriate somehow. They all start chanting it.

“Hail Goddess! Hail Goddess!”

Dayv, standing near the bull’s left ear, wonders how Lin feels about suddenly being a goddess. She looks perfectly content. He can see a slight smile playing on her face above where he is standing, as though she has heard a good joke.

People in religious situations can be so….irrational, it occurs to him, and after a few minutes, he starts to fret that the crowd will progress to calling for a human sacrifice of Lin, now their goddess. At the very least, they might demand that she live out her life as a celibate. (He’s heard of such things, though not in their tribe.) That would suit neither of them.

He starts praying fervently to all the gods he’s ever heard of, (and he’s heard of quite a few), that the situation won’t get worse, that after the chanting is over, Lin will be free to resume her life as an ordinary mortal on Governor’s Island.

Lin opens her eyes ever so slightly, just enough to for her to peep through her eye lashes at what is going on but not enough for anyone to tell that she’s cheating. From her vantage point atop the bull, she sees no one, not Vejo, Dayve, Horass, Maree, Reha, Dug, nor any of the others.

What she sees, instead, is the blue sky and the staring windows of the empty buildings, the branches of the trees, maybe an oak, swaying above her.

And birds, maybe seagulls, soaring and turning in the wind.

Years later, married to Dayv and ever a performer when she gets a chance, she still remembers her first wedding, to Bowling Green, the horned god, and that crescendo of voices chanting on May Day.

*********

For other work by Marianne, please see her prize-winning short short story here, or the start of her ninja story here.

Featured writing

A Kyoto Pilgrimage

October 21, 2019

A KYOTO PILGRIMAGE
by N. J. Teele

About twenty years ago, walking down Teramachi-dori from Shijo, I came across a musty little shop specializing in pre-Meiji wasōbon (books printed and bound in the traditional Japanese manner). Among them, I found a slim rather-worn and weathered book which was titled Kannongyō Hayayomi eshō, which roughly translates “An illustrated ‘fast read’ of the Kannon sutra.” The sutra is part of the Lotus Sutra (the 25^th chapter) and has become so popular that it is often printed independently.

Kannon (Chinese: Guan Yin, Sanskrit: Avalokiteśvara) is one of the most loved of Buddhism’s many buddhas and bodhisattvas. A bodhisattva (bosatsu) is a being who has attained enlightenment but refused final entry into nirvana until all sentient beings are saved, and Kannon is a bosatsu who represents the path of compassion to that goal. Kannon can thus be seen to represent an ideal, concept, or Way.

The Heart Sutra (Hannya Shingyō), the sutra more often translated into English than any other, is Kannon’s highly condensed summary of higher Buddhist wisdom (prajna paramita) regarding the nature of existence. At the same time, Kannon is a miracle-working divinity. The Kannon sutra is devoted to a description of the role of Kannon as the one who hears the cries of the world. The sutra encourages devout believers to call out the name of Kannon in times of great need, and includes many examples of ways and forms that Kannon appears to the devout in order to save them. In Japan, stories of miracles performed as a result of such worship of Kannon go back to the ninth century Nihon Ryōiki (Miraculous Stories from the Japanese Buddhist Tradition) and there are hundreds of temples across Japan where Kannon is worshipped.

The picture of Kannon is from Nick Teele’s copy of the *Kannongy*ō *Hayayomi esh*ō

One of the most well-known, and oldest, pilgrimages in Japan is the Saikoku Sanjūsansho (the name is sometimes expanded to Saikoku Sanjūsansho Kannon reijō junrei). It is a pilgrimage to 33 temples in the Kansai area where the principle religious focus is on Kannon. Believed to date back to the mid-Heian period, the pilgrimage is so influential that it has inspired similar pilgrimages to Kannon in different areas around Japan. The most well-known of these are the Bandō Sanjūsansho and the Chichibu Sanjūsansho, both in the Kanto area. Because at the time I found the book I was in the midst of making the Saikoku 33 pilgrimage, my interest was immediately aroused, and I bought it.

Looking through my newest prized possession when I got home, I saw that it was an undated edition of a book originally published in 1739. Following the condensed and illustrated version of the Kannon sutra was a list of the 33 Saikoku Kannon pilgrimage temples, with little pictures of each temple and its statue of Kannon, along with a bit about the temple, and the poem (goeika) for it. There were also lists of 33 Kannon temples in both Rakuyō (Kyoto) and Osaka. Fascinated by my discovery, I decided that someday I would make the Kyoto pilgrimage. This was my introduction to the Rakuyō Sanjūsansho Kannon Reijō Junrei, or pilgrimage to 33 temples in Kyoto where Kannon is worshiped.

Initially, I was unable to find much information about it, but that didn’t stop me from deciding to make the pilgrimage. For major pilgrimages such as the one to 88 temples on Shikoku and the Saikoku 33 pilgrimage mentioned above, there are books to record the visit to each temple, called nokyōchō. These books are printed with the name of each temple, its Buddhist sect affiliation, the main buddha or bodhisattva, and the poem for the temple. When a serious pilgrim visits one of the temples he or she prays and recites the mantra for the buddha or bodhisattva, the poem for the temple, and perhaps the poetic summary (ge) at the end of the Kannon sutra, or the much shorter Heart sutra and then gets the book stamped and written in by a priest or layman working at the temple.

As there was no nokyōchō for this pilgrimage, I bought a blank book and added the names of each of the temples in numerical order. However, I quickly discovered that some of the temples no longer exist. In the case of Yoshida-dera, for example, the shrine is still there, but the temple is gone, and the statue of Kannon which had been in the temple is on display at the Kyoto National Museum. As a result of lack of information and an increase in administrative duties at the school where I worked, my progress floundered, and simmered on a back burner until I retired several years ago.

Returning to it, I discovered to my delight that the Rakuyō pilgrimage had been ‘reborn.’ An internet search turned up a joint guide to the Saikoku 33 pilgrimage and the Rakuyō 33 which had been originally published in 1687, and had been republished in 1986, using modern type. There was a paragraph or so about each of the Rakuyō temples (those that were also on the Saikoku pilgrimage were directed to the entry for the temple in that commentary). The contents made it clear that in the seventeenth century some changes had been made in the original pilgrimage. I further learned that in 2004, the pilgrimage had been revised once again, omitting those temples no longer in existence and adding others to bring the number back to 33. In 2019, the pilgrimage celebrated the 15th anniversary of its second “rebirth,” and 355 years since its first.

Section of the reprint about the pilgrimages

The origin of the Rakuyō 33 pilgrimage may date back to the emperor Goshirakawa (1127-1192). He loved pilgrimage and is said to have gone to the major Kumano shrines in Wakayama over thirty times. He ordered that soil and foilage be brought from three of them and founded three Kumano shrines in Kyoto, for those who could not go all the way to Wakayama. Goshirakawa is also said to have had 33 temples in Kyoto designated as a pilgrimage circuit to Kannon, for those who could not make the Saikoku pilgrimage: the Rakuyō 33. This is the standard story of the origin of the pilgrimage; however, the introduction to the 1687 guide to the temples gives the date of 1431 for the start of the pilgrimage, during the reign of the emperor Gohanazono.

Over the last year and a half, I finally made the Rakuyō 33 pilgrimage, going once a month or so to three or four of the temples. I made the walks with a good friend, also retired, as part of a plan to get out and visit historical and religious places in and around Kyoto. (Our wives were happy to have us out of the house.) For the Rakuyō pilgrimage, we usually adapted one of the recommended walks in the two current guidebooks. These books list four walks, grouped by geographical proximity rather than numerical sequence. One of the guidebooks, Kyoto Kotokoto Kannon Meguri, Rakuyō Sanjūsansho Kannon Junrei, includes the names of nearby restaurants.

A majority of the 33 temples are located in the central and eastern half of the city, but other parts of Kyoto are also included. For example, one of the temples is at Mibu-dera, another is a temple originally part of Kitano Tenmangu and located near the torii for that Shinto shrine, and the Kannon-dō at Tō-ji is also on the list. Considered in numerical order, they make a very rough circle, starting with the Rokkakuō, heading east, then north, then south, west, and north.

Some of the temples are well known, such as the Sanjūsangendō. Some are sub-temples within the precincts of larger temples. For example, Kiyomizu-dera has several, and Shin Hasedera is part of the Shinnyō-dō. Some appear to be rather well off, but the majority do not show any sign of opulence. Some are not open to the public, although it is possible to get one’s nokyōchō stamped and signed. Others are open and friendly, and may even give you a cup of tea. Nearly all appear to be active in their communities. We often saw one or two other people making the pilgrimage, and were told that the number of people the Rakuyō pilgrimage is increasing. We met one young lady who was making the pilgrimage for the third time. In addition to being a good way to see the city of Kyoto, the pilgrimage provides a fascinating picture of urban Buddhism, and of Kannon.

I had already visited quite a few of the Rakuyō 33 temples, but there were some delightful surprises. One was Chōraku-ji. Located up past Gion and Maruyama park, it is a quiet temple, with a garden created by Sōami (who also designed the garden at Ginkakuji) that is exquisite and reverberates with the aura of past centuries. It is the temple where Taira no Tokuko (1155-1213) the daughter of Taira no Kiyomori, empress to the emperor Takakura, and mother of the emperor Antoku, took nun’s vows following the fall of the Taira and death of Antoku, still a young boy, who drowned at Dan no Ura in 1185. Known as Kenreimonin, she later went to live at Jakkō-in. Whereas most of the temples are clearly in the city, Chōraku-ji is just far enough away to provide a pervading atmosphere of beauty and calm. (The picture of a stamp and sign below are for this temple.)

The URL for the Rakuyō pilgrimage is http://rakuyo33.jp

The URL for a page in English which lists the temples and has two maps is: https://rakuyo33.info

The URL for the Saikoku pilgrimage is: https://saikoku33.gr.jp

For an interview with Nick Teele about his life, see https://archived.writersinkyoto.com/2018/07/nicholas-teele-interview/

References

観音霊験記研究会,「西国洛陽三十三所観音霊験記」『駒沢短大国文』Vol. 16, Nr. 35 (March 1986) pp. 35-83.

『京都ことこと観音めぐり洛陽三十三所観音巡』京都新聞出版センター,
2006.

Nakamura Kyoko, tr. Miraculous Stories from the Japanese Buddhist Tradition, The Nihon Ryōiki of the monk Kyōkai. Harvard, 1973.

『洛陽三十三所観音霊場巡礼』平成洛陽三十三所観音霊場巡礼会, 2017.

—-. 『観音経早読絵抄』Undated edition, originally published in 元文四年（1739).

October, 2019

Featured writing

50th anniversary

October 16, 2019

The foreign community in Kyoto will all know of the delicious cheesecake available from the Papa Jon’s shops in town. Many will also know the popular owner, Charles Roche. Few will know however that October 17 happens to be the 50th anniversary of his arrival in the country. Yes, 50 years ago!

To celebrate the occasion, Charles has penned a small memoir of his first visit to the country. All the way back in that fabulous year of 1969…

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“Inner Voice” is a hinky thing. People talk about it, I listen for it and sometimes take its counsel. But then the doubt. Is it a message from the Self or is Harvey my inner ventriloquist ego schmuck at it again?! I’m never sure.

But this time was different.

It was the last day of a nineteen-day voyage from Bombay to Japan. Passengers were on deck huddled close against a chill autumn wind watching the pale grey horizontal line called Honshu slowly ink in.
A guy standing next to me asked, “How long will you be in Japan”?

I had traveled hard for a full year overland from New York, the last dozen weeks in Nepal and India. I was skinny, road-weary, and now wise enough to know that sculpted travel plans invite “otherly” interference. Two months in Japan was my self-imposed limit. It was now mid-October and I would be back home in New York for Christmas! It was to dissuade heavenly shenanigans and dispel my own doubts that I delivered my answer with conviction. “Two months.”

The moment those words left my mouth a voice in the wind whispered, “Two years.” I gave my head a quick shake to clear my ears then repeated, this time louder, “Two months.”

The guy who had asked the question moved a step back and said, “Yeah, I heard you.”

And the voice again said, “Two years.”

I remained in Japan that first time, from October 17, 1969, to November 3, 1971.

Two years and seventeen days.

***************
For a report of the dinner talk by an old friend of Charles, Judith Clancy, at the Papa Jon’s Cafe, click here.

Nov 24 – Chris Mosdell at home

October 16, 2019

Wordsmith Chris Mosdell has had a high profile career as scriptwriter, lyricist, poet, author, performer and experimentalist, working with some of the top people in Japan. We are delighted therefore to announce an opportunity to hear firsthand from this most original of writers, who will be coming from Tokyo specially for the occasion. (Participation limited to WiK members, and reservations are now fully booked.)

The event will take place in the late afternoon at Chris Mosdell’s attractive house in Okazaki (see pics below). He will talk about his early work with Sakamoto Ryuichi and Yellow Magic Orchestra, his experimentation with visual music, his collaboration with the poet Tanikawa Shuntaro, as well as his newer work with anime movies and collective poetry. Refreshments provided. Afterwards those who wish will adjourn to a local soba shop.

Place: UTA YOMI DORI 京都市左京区岡崎法勝町83-1
83-1, Okazakihoshojicho Sakyo-Ku, Kyoto 606-8333
(UTA YOMI DORI is the name of the house. It is actually the Heian name for the bush warbler – literally translated as “The bird that recites poetry”.)

Directions: If you’re starting at the traffic lights in front of Okazaki Jinja on Marutamachi Dori, cross over and walk down the street opposite. (There’s a big supermarket on the corner.) At the junction at the bottom of the road, veer slightly right and continue down, past the ryokan “Rakuyoso” and take the next left (before you reach the hotel Jardin de Fleurs!). UTA YOMI DORI is 100 yards on the right.

Time of event: 4.30 pm (doors open from 4.00)

Fee: The charge for this special occasion will be Y4000, which includes a signed copy of Chris’s latest publication, The Radicals (normally selling at ¥5000).

(From the back cover): THE RADICALS is a collection of narratives pertaining to the ontology of a nation––a poetic shrine to a people, a culture, and a social milieu––built on the roots of a country’s written language. From the founding components of kanji (ideograms), the bushu (radicals) document the historic landscape of Japan––its literary figures, its heroic warriors, and its emperors, artists, gods and warlords––through interwoven characters and continua that embody a spirit of place.

Via a series of emblematic pictograms (sun, woman, tree, fire, king) the centuries of the Eastern Isles are envisaged, with poems exemplifying the anthems of a nation, the seasons’ rice-planting songs, the sutra to the gods. Yet, against the bedrock shores of the Kingdom of Yamato (ancient Japan), wave after wave of hyperkinetic imagery from the hub of Mosdell’s contemporary creative centre, the immense metropolis of Tokyo, crash in. Here is an allegory of the Japanese identity. A mosaic, a thousand shards gathered up to represent a vast momentous chronicle of a country.

To learn more about Chris, please see his website or this lengthy Wikipedia page about him.

Featured writing

Poem: Okunoin, Koyasan

October 15, 2019

The cemetery at Koya-san, known as Okunoin, where Shingon sect founder Kobo Daishi is buried (photo by Preston Houser)

Okunoin, Koyasan / 奥の院、高野山

One enters this sacred garden alone
Finding one’s way by learning to read
The resonating air surrounding the stone

Consulting a tome or charting a zone
Unknown home where paths may lead
One enters this sacred garden alone

By demolishing the knower knowing and known
Scant satori when the soul has freed
The resonating air surrounding the stone

The hum of tombs a collective moan
That moves the mind through wind and weed
One enters this sacred garden alone

Dancing to drum of skull and flute of bone
A malignant music that all must heed
The resonating air surrounding the stone

For these reasons must one atone
And take to heart this cosmic creed
One enters this sacred garden alone
The resonating air surrounding the stone
—Preston Keido Houser, 2019

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For other poems by Preston, please click here or here.

Featured writing

Seto Naikai reminiscence

October 11, 2019

Inland Sea Life in the Showa Era
Amy Chavez

Fumiko twittered over to the genkan with arms pressed down at her sides and hands jutting out to the sides like little wings. Wearing a simple button down blouse and gingham pants, she bent at the waist in a deep Japanese bow. Of course, I don’t warrant such a deep bow but Fumiko treats all people like this, as if they are esteemed guests of the upper echelons of society.

I did not know Fumiko very well, so rather than just showing up on her doorstep, I made an appointment through her daughter-in-law the last time I was at the grocery store. “Sure,” Keiko had said, while tallying up my apple and yogurt at the register. “But you better book in quick because the summer starts next week and she’ll be too busy after that.” Keiko made a quick call on her cellphone and pressed her chin on her right shoulder to secure the phone while giving me my change with both hands. Then she gave a nod and said, “How about tomorrow morning?”

And so there I was, standing in the genkan being welcomed by the gracious Fumiko whose Japanese was so polite it poured from her geranium red lips like honey off a honey dipper.

I always find appointments rather awkward, but Fumiko was perfectly at ease. She ushered me in and sat me down at the table in front of the window where an old wrinkled pine tree stretched a lazy arm across the windowpane. Fumiko alighted on the chair opposite me.

A woman smocked in Hello Kitty, brought iced coffee and cheesecake on a tray and set it down in front of us. Then with perfect posture, hands gently folded on her lap, Fumiko started speaking in her melodious voice, and continued without interruption:

“So you want to know about the grocery store, right? Well, in 1945, my husband’s parents had just returned from China. My husband’s father was in the police force in Japan, and they had been transferred to China during the Pacific War to help out with law enforcement. At the end of WWII, they were repatriated but when they came back they had absolutely nothing but the clothes on their backs. Having been gone so long, they didn’t even own a vegetable plot anymore so they had no food to eat.

There were many horror stories about the Japanese who were sent to China. Some died because of the horrific conditions. I heard of one woman who was on the train when one of the bridges was bombed. While the train was waiting on standby she gave birth right there on the train and the other passengers had to pull the baby out! So I know my husband’s parents really lived through difficult times.

Of course they didn’t have a job to come back to either, as Japan was in ruins after the war. To support themselves they started making tofu here on Shiraishi Island, selling it door to door. At that time, the island didn’t have paved roads like now so when they carried the tofu on bamboo poles over their shoulders they had to trudge over narrow mountain paths. They walked all over the island of course, but in those days rock mining was going strong on the back side of the island, so they sold a lot of tofu to the workers over there at lunchtime.

My mother-in-law’s side of the family had an extra house on the island so they started a store there in 1954. That building was across from the old movie theater but now we use it as a warehouse. Then they bought the building next door and moved the store there, where it still is today.

Childhood

My father worked on the next island over where he washed crane machinery. My mother tilled the vegetable gardens with my grandmother here at home. Young people who weren’t married yet, and children like myself who were still in elementary school, helped out in the gardens. We also were in charge of carrying buckets of sludge from the toilets to fertilize the gardens.

Everyone grew vegetables back then, mostly barley and potatoes, because we could sell those things for cash to the JA [Japan Agricultural Association]. Rice was distributed by the government, even rice not made in Japan. But there was never enough rice, so islanders had no choice but to grow barley and potatoes. We ate an awful lot of barley and potatoes,” she repeated, laughing while covering her mouth with her cupped hand.

“We had a big family—I was one of five kids—so I had to help my parents. At that time we needed to heat the bath water, so we children helped collect fallen pine needles to burn as fuel. We’d canvass the mountain areas and bundle up needles in bags which we’d sling over our backs. There was a mountain right next to our house, but it was private land so we couldn’t collect pine needles there. We went to areas further away. But others also went to those same places so you had to get out there early before anyone else! We never had enough fuel, so even if there was just a tiny breeze we’d rush out to the mountain and collect the needles that fell.

We had enough water for our daily lives because we had a well that we pumped by hand. But we still had to carry the buckets of water from the well to the bath, even after the war. Those who didn’t have wells had to ask their neighbors to let them use their bath. Of course, no one had much money, so rather than paying, they might take some wheat, or fuel. We didn’t share our bath often because we already had a big family.

People just helped each other in those days. We were busy every day just surviving. My childhood home is still here, but the house is empty now.

Arranged Marriage

We didn’t have money to go on to higher education from high school, so as soon as I graduated I went to Osaka. I owned hardly anything, so I left with just one bag.

For two years I was an “office lady.” It was so much fun! When I was in Osaka I was free and I could do whatever I pleased whenever I pleased. I lived in my uncle’s house so I didn’t have to pay rent. I hardly made any money, but that’s how I lived. It was great. I was young. Even without money we went to many places and still enjoyed ourselves.

Then my parents called me back to the island. They wanted me to get married and they had set up everything. Back here, I felt like I’d fallen into Hell. I was only 20 when I married and it changed my life completely. I was so sad. I had to get up every morning at 5 a.m. to make tofu and then work till late at night. Then from 9 p.m, I had to prepare the bath for all the family members and do the laundry. Then we’d all get up in the morning and make tofu again.

Both my mother and father-in-law worked so hard in the tofu industry, waking up early every day and carrying the heavy tofu that after a while it took a toll on their health. So they decided to look for an easier job. There were boats leaving from Kobe and Osaka delivering goods back and forth down the Seto Inland Sea. So they managed to get jobs on the boats. But the person who arranged the work for them took most of the money, so although they worked they didn’t make any money. They had been tricked. They accumulated a lot of debt.

The Store

I started working at the grocery store as soon as I married into the family. At that time soy sauce, vinegar, and miso were weighed and charged per gram, so you only bought as much as you needed that day. In those days people didn’t have much purchasing power. The variety of goods were paltry so most people lived very simply on fried food, tofu and konyaku which they bought and took home in their own vessels. We didn’t have any luxury foods nor many sweets. Even senbei rice crackers were sold one by one. In the old days the store was open until 9 p.m. at night and during Obon, until 10 p.m. We had very little free time.

Everything was brought over from the markets in Kasaoka. There was a middleman who worked with wholesalers and retail shops and would send the goods over on the passenger ferry. We’d go and pick up the goods at the port in a riyaka wheeled cart.

*riyaka* wheeled carts (courtesy Wikipedia)

Not long after I married, my mother-in-law died. My husband’s father immediately remarried a woman who didn’t lift a finger to help. So I was the one who had to do everything. After three months I lost ten kilograms! It wasn’t because of stress—it was because of fear. My in-laws yelled at me all the time even when I tried my best to do things diligently and pleasantly.

I had a child right away too. With the first child I couldn’t sleep at night so I was so tired and miserable. But my husband’s parents never helped me at home nor with the shop. I did it all, including cooking all the meals. I had become their servant.

But that’s how the times were and there was nothing I could do about it. Nowadays, women don’t put up with this kind of treatment. If I were a little smarter, I wouldn’t have either. But once you have children, you can’t leave. So, that’s just how I lived,” she said through a jeweled smile.

“When I was growing up, we didn’t have anything. We wore dirty clothes and we had no new clothes to change into. We had fleas in our hair but we picked them out of each other’s heads for amusement. We didn’t have toys to play with so we entertained ourselves with games like with ishi koroke with stones. We played oni gokko tag. Whatever we did we made a lively time of it. My grandkids don’t seem to have as much fun, just staring into smartphones all day long. I know times change, but I wonder how fun can that be?”

****

When I said goodbye to Fumiko that day, I felt that this charming woman who had opened up her heart with such sangfroid, was not just speaking for herself but for entire generations of Japanese who lived through WWII and the first half of the Showa era. She taught me that the current luxury and abundance was born from that sadness and pain and she encouraged me to consider that this balance may be the essence of a fulfilled life.

The next day, I was walking down the road when someone on a motor scooter came to a halt next to me. At first I didn’t recognize her in her helmet and dark glasses but those geranium red lips were unmistakably hers. “That was so much fun yesterday,” Fumiko said. “Let’s do it again sometime. I have some more stories I think you’d like to hear.” To which I responded, “Lovely. How about tomorrow?”

Amy Chavez is an author and columnist. This is an excerpt from her work-in-progress on the lives of the people living in the Seto Inland Sea during the Taisho and Showa eras.

Schumacher’s Picture Dictionary

October 9, 2019

Mark enjoys a sake cup fashioned by Kawai Kanjiro, courtesy of his old friend Robert Yellin
(photos by John Dougill)

Anyone doing research on Japanese culture, and on Japanese religion in particular, will be familiar with Mark Schumacher’s A-Z Photo Dictionary of Buddhism and Shinto in Japan. It’s an invaluable resource, acknowledged overseas by scholars and museums. On October 4 Writers in Kyoto was fortunate to host its creator at a dinner talk when he gave an overview of its development.

A farmer’s son from Minnesota, Mark was brought up a Catholic and took up East Asian studies at university. He spent two years in Taiwan learning Chinese, and in 1993 arrived in Japan with interests far removed from the religious life of the country.

Based in Kamakura where he still lives, he made money as a translator and web designer, creating webpages and estores well ahead of the curve, enjoying some prestigious clients including ceramics collector Robert Yellin, owner of Yakimono Gallery, and saké expert, John Gauntner (with whom he exports saké). He did work too for famed author Robert Whiting (his neighbour) and Bryan Baird, founder of Baird craft beer. Inspired by such people, Mark looked around for a passion of his own and found it in his curiosity about Buddhist statuary.

It was in Kyoto’s Sanjusangendo (Hall of 33 Bays) that he had an epiphany, when confronted with number 33 and the temple’s focus on Kannon, deity of compassion. Why 33 he wondered? One question led to another, and in his enthusiasm to track down the answers he realised he had found his calling.

One of the 33 manifestations of Kannon (photo by Serai)

Over the past twenty years he has been diligently building up his website in a true labour of love. From the beginning he was determined to illustrate the statues, making it a photo dictionary rather than just a database. He was also concerned to credit and acknowledge the sources of his information. Such was his dedication that to his surprise he found scholars contacting him for their research, and in recent years he has had dealings too with authors, art collectors and the NHK. He has even been asked to identify rare pieces for museum collections.

Remarkably after all this time, Mark’s enthusiasm has not waned and he remains as passionate as ever about his project. His latest area of interest is in New Duties for Old Deities, with postwar developments such as Mizuko Jizo and Mizuko Kannon (patrons of departed souls, especially children lost to miscarriage, stillbirth, or abortion); Bokefuji deities (worshipped to ward off dementia) and Pokkuri divinities catering to Japan’s elderly citizens, who wish to die quickly without suffering from dementia, cancer or other prolonged illness (pokkuri could be loosely translated as “to pop off quickly”).

Work on the Photo Dictionary goes on, and Shinto has now been added to the comprehensive work on Buddhism. Mark’s ebullience was infectious, and the whole group left invigorated by the fine fare on offer. A little piece of Kamakura had lit up the soul of Kyoto.

(report by John Dougill)

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The Abyss

Zazen

Missionary Man

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By the River

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Sleep

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No Self

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